


What We Leave Behind

by groove_bunker



Category: Dollhouse, Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F, Perfect precious couple, This gets happier i promise, i love writing this so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 07:29:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2379947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/groove_bunker/pseuds/groove_bunker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can't stop yourself making excuses any more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What We Leave Behind

You shouldn't have come.

Not after the note, not after months of emptiness which you couldn't quite give a name to. But then, suddenly, it's two years since you drove away from Helena in Wiscounsin, and the winter in Univille is cold and you're crying yourself to sleep. Then you find a bottle of whiskey in Claudia's room and before you know it, you've booked a flight to Los Angeles.

You spend days wandering the city, looking for something you might have left behind. All you find is the café where she first leaned across the table and took your hand, or the art gallery where she pressed her soft lips to yours in front of your favourite painting. You spend hours staring at it, wondering if it can tell you something you don't want to tell yourself.

It's not love, but it's something like it.

The night before your flight home, you get drunk on the rest of Claudia's whiskey and pick up the phone. It's midnight but she answers the phone in her office. Of course she does.

"I'm here."

"You're where?"

"Los Angeles...I'm here."

"Why?"

"You're not in South Dakota, Adelle."

"You're drunk."

"So are you, probably. What difference does that make?"

"Where are you staying?"

When you wake up in the morning, she's still there, splayed across your uncomfortable hotel bed, hair a mess, make up even worse. You want to tell her how you felt standing in front of that painting, but you can't. Instead, you kiss her, on the lips, hoping that it won't be the last time


End file.
